Best Laid Plans – Bentley 57

[For a quick guide go here: Quick guide.]

[There's some back story here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and read more recent Bentley episodes especially this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

The town was looking a little drab, Bentley had to admit. And it wasn’t just because of the odd piles of rubbish left outside certain properties owned by a certain man. 

He and Natalie were surveying their work so far. Certainly there had been some impact, but nothing that would make Aston quake in his shoes, or even consider getting thicker socks for that matter. But it was a start. Bentley hoped that behind the scenes, in small offices dotted around the town, Aston and his underlings were fighting a bureaucratic battle against the local council concerning business waste and/or fly tipping issues around his shops and cafes.

“You think Norman will come in handy?” asked Natalie.

“No idea,” says Bentley. “But at least if he’s on our side that one less person to worry about. And of course Aston’s going to be mad at him.”

“If he’s on our side,” reiterated Natalie.

Bentley made a mental note to discuss Norman with Shiela at some point. There was something in their past that he needed to get straight, a debt owed that might prove useful for leverage, or which might prove to be a bomb that would blow up in his face. Bentley needed to know which it would be. But for now, he needed to see how effective his own existing network could be.

“Lets go and watch the fireworks,” said Bentley, “Or the reverse fireworks. Or..  or something. It’s not really going to be like fireworks at all is it?”

The arcade was open, of course. Socially distanced, but open nonetheless. Bentley and Natalie wandered among the machines, masked up and occasionally spraying their hands with sanitiser. It was busy, or at least surprisingly so thought Bentley, given it was mid-week and the pandemic, while easing, was still not entirely in the background. Warning signs were everywhere together with a few florescent clad security people, more ready to break up crowds than fights.

“You know I’ve never actually tried one of these,” said Natalie of one of the machine. I’ve walked past them loads. “Mum and dad never wanted me to try one. I guess they thought I might spend all my money on one of them. Or they didn’t have any money for me to throw away on one in the first place.”

“It’s never a waste of money,” said Bentley. “All good clean fun and maybe a stick of rock at the end.”

These days the machine blurted out tickets as you won, or even if you just did not very badly. These tickets then had to be taken to the merchandise stall where you could exchange them for whatever. Whatever was of course, highly priced in terms of tickets. Only when you’d already committed to collecting tickets did you realise exactly how many you really needed to get in order to walk away with anything interesting. 

It was a fantastic piece of hooking and reeling in, thought Bentley, worthy of Knowles, of course but possibly too much of a long game for someone like Aston. For. A few moments Bentley imagined the conversation between the two as Aston argued that prices should just go up, while Knowles just wanted to dial down the number of tickets that were handed out every day.

“Chalk and cheese,” he muttered under his breath. “Either they’ll fall apart or they'll compliment each other perfectly.”

“What was that?” asked Natalie, only half hearing him.

But Bentley was suddenly staring at his phone. Lost in another world he gradually came back to Natalie, finally showing her the screen of his phone.

– Thimble’s dead. – read the text. – Bird Fancier’s Lung. He’s left some things for you. Please contact.

Bentley stared at the text. Fred Thimble was gone, but Bentley had almost already forgotten him anyway. Thimble was surely only ever a bit-part player. Sure he was connected and knew people and so on, but what on earth would he have that was of interest to Bentley or that he thought Bentley should have? 

He showed the text the Natalie. “Remember him?” He asked. “Bloke in York. Went on about everything and nothing at all.”

“Looks like we need to get in touch with the lawyers then,” said Natalie.

Her watch alarm went off. She counted down from 10 and at 1 the power to the entire arcade was cut. Everything, every light, every machine, every noise, every piece of music, even the drinks dispensers and the crane attractions where you’re meant to (impossibly) pick up your gift and transport it to the shoot so you can claim it stopped.

There was an eerie silence across the large hall. Then a baby cried, their parent tried to sooth it and someone, unseen swore as their 2 pence piece so very nearly sent the rest of the coins on that shelf tumbling but now didn’t because the whole place had stopped.

And the rest was pandemonium.